


an emotional wreck when the matter is you

by alltheglitters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltheglitters/pseuds/alltheglitters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hello... how are you, how have you been, Harry?" She strings sentences together, and it's fine, because he feels like that too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an emotional wreck when the matter is you

**Author's Note:**

> a few notes: never realized that i even cared for this ship at all until today, when an evil plot bunny crept into my brain and refused to go away. anyhow, i always pictured harry and cho to make up in their adulthood... properly, once they've grown up, so this is my humble attempt to make it happen.
> 
> disclaimer: in its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to j. k. rowling (a.k.a. my childhood/young adulthood/life) and bloomsbury publishing, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. no profit is being made from this work.

When he sees her here of all places, her hair is tied up, high and messy, in a bun. She looks pretty still, she always has. Her eyes are large and bright as she leans over the counter, patting a young boy on his head.

"Can I get you a hot chocolate instead?"

She winks at another customer, who must be the boy's mother.

 

 

For minutes, he wonders if she sees him watching her; he's been known to stare; it is only when she stops in her tracks to look at him with widened eyes that he realizes she didn't notice at all.

And her half-laugh and half-cry sounds lovely and foreign in his ear. She wipes her hand on her brownish apron; there is a smile on her face and a wobbling cup in her hand, which she slowly puts down, her eyes still trained on him.

"Hello... how are you, how have you been, Harry?" She strings sentences together, and it's fine, because he feels like that too.

When she sits him down, they do not hug nor touch. They just talk: he rambling on about his work at the Ministry, she pausing politely before telling him that she likes having some time to herself in order to travel. (She's seen a cove in Bahia, rode a bike in Copenhagen, while he's been stuck, stuck, _stuck_.) Only once or twice did he want to touch her palm, and even then, Harry fights the urge to. Even if hers aren't, his wounds are still fresh and open. He wonders if too much has happened, no matter the time.

She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling at the ribbon. She continues speaking of globes and maps.

He's almost envious when he sees that there is only a faint trace of the girl she was before when they come to a lull. Her dark eyes are wet, she's sniffling. She feels comfortable away from his world, her old one, she says; she's missed him quite a bit; _come here_.

Leaning towards him (her freckles are still there), she presses her hand on his chest and Harry feels her lips against his. At twenty-four years old, he recalls the last time they kissed: tears, relief and grief.

Today, it isn't the same. The taste of hazelnut and macadamia will testify to that (after all, it's nearly Christmas).

 

 

They meet for tea the next week. She's ordered him something he can't pronounce without sounding like an idiot when he arrives with snow in his hair, late.

He apologizes, rubbing his shoes together like a child; she asks him to take a sip. _It's nice, I promise._

 

 

FIN.


End file.
